


That soft, gentle buzzing

by kuragay



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragay/pseuds/kuragay
Summary: Soulmates aren't predetermined. Instead, they're created when you get close enough to someone, in the form of an empathy bond.Peter has bonds with Ned, with May, and with Tony. Three people who take up his soul, and he would die for each and every one of them.He used to have a bond with Ben.
Relationships: Ben Parker & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 226





	That soft, gentle buzzing

They’re sitting in calculus, listening to Dr. Li drone on when Ned leans over to Peter and, out of the blue, asks, “What’s wrong?” 

Peter turns to Ned and frowns. “What d’you mean? I didn’t say anything.” And then he feels the buzzing, deep inside of him--warm, loving, concerned, and totally unnecessary. “Cut that out. I’m fine.”

Usually, Ned would’ve dropped it by now, which is why it’s so strange that he doesn’t cut it out, and instead links harder, the empathy bond thrumming steadily under Peter’s skin, leading him back to Ned.

“Ned, seriously,” Peter mutters, finishing up the math problem, which Ned leans over and copies down. 

“I’m just worried.”

“I know, but I would tell you if I’m really not feeling alright. You’re just being paranoid now.”

Ned huffs out a breath of exasperation, but the buzzing fades and Peter relaxes, letting his shoulder bump against Ned’s as a sort of peace offering. 

“Is it because it’s so close to--you know?” Ned leans in to whisper, not even five minutes later.

“Oh my god, Ned. No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Ned doesn’t push it anymore, but Peter can tell by how Ned’s side-eyeing him that he doesn’t believe Peter. And he would be right not to.

In three days, Ben would’ve died three years ago. Well, eight years ago for the world, but three years ago for Peter. It still aches as if fresh, every day, but Peter would never admit that. No one needs him to whine about something everyone else seems to have moved on from. Although, to be fair, everyone else wasn’t there when Ben died.

Wasn’t there to see him bleed out.

Wasn’t there to _feel_ it. The thrumming link, the buzzing, full of life and worry and, _“Peter, you gotta tell me what’s up. Man to man. C’mon buddy.”_ And then the gun shot, and then the energy tying them together being ripped brutally away until Peter’s screaming, and screaming, and crying because Ben’s bleeding everywhere. There’s blood on Peter’s hands, his clothes, going deep into his skin where there’s a harrowing emptiness that’s so achingly _wrong._

Several academic papers have touched on the trauma of an empathy bond being forced to break by the death of one half of it. None of the papers have ever described accurately how much it truly hurts, or the emptiness that comes afterwards and seems to never go away.

Ned’s bond reaches out tentatively, tugging at Peter’s, and Peter realizes that he’s completely zoned out. He lets Ned reach and attach, and the soft buzzing fills Peter deeply until he can let the emptiness fade.

He doesn’t tell Ned to pull away, this time.

-

The thing is, soulmates are never predetermined. They’re formed as you live your life. The closer you get to someone, the more likely you are to become soulmates. It’s not as if every single one of your loved ones will touch your soul the way that’s required for an empathy bond to form, and most people only form one or two in their lifetime. May never bonded with Ben, but she loved him fiercely. Soulmates don’t just form for people you love. There’s an innate, inexplicable connection.

But Peter must love differently, and he loves and loves and loves too deeply. He has bonds with Ned, with May, and with Tony. Three people who take up his soul, and he would die for each and every one of them.

He used to have a bond with Ben.

The thing is, when a bond breaks permanently, a part of your soul that used to be reserved for that person becomes void. It brings constant agony, over and over, waves upon waves of grief deeper than can be described. 

-

“Peter?” May walks into Peter’s room, gently easing herself down beside his bed. She places a hand on his forehead, and Peter shudders, feeling their link connect, letting his sadness seep out. “Oh baby,” she says, voice unbearably sad as she gently lets her fingers run down his cheek, rubbing into his shoulder.

Peter stares at the ceiling, the clogged feeling in his chest telling him he needs to cry, but somehow he can’t. “We should be going to the shelter to volunteer today.”

“Are you alright with that?”

Peter nods, heart heavy at the thought of getting out of bed, but May only hums. 

“How about we have a day in instead. How does that sound?”

Normally Peter would argue more, but he can’t bring himself to now. Not when the link between him and May is all that’s keeping him holding on, so he nods instead. “I forgot to cancel with Tony,” Peter realizes, and May hums again, pressing a kiss on his head.

“I’ll give him a call after I call the shelter, yeah?”

Peter rolls over in bed to watch her leave, grateful. Usually he doesn’t come home for the weekends because a four hour drive from MIT back to queens is an annoyingly long commute for two days at home. But Ned convinced him this weekend, and Peter’s grateful for that too. He doesn’t know how he would be fairing in his dorm room, stifled and lonely.

May comes back into his room after a minute and clambers into Peter’s bed, pulling away the blanket he’s hogging. “C’mon,” she says, and Peter folds himself into her chest, letting her light drain away the pain.

“I love you,” May says softly into his hair. “So, so much, my sweet boy.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, baby.”

Peter cries. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t save him.”

“Shhh.”

May presses kiss after kiss to his hair, gently soothing the crashing, clawing agony. Peter can remember the exact feeling of his and Ben’s bond snapping, can remember the indescribable pain that followed. The feeling of having something within him scooped and torn out. The feeling of something reaching inside and tearing him apart. 

“Shhh,” May whispers again when Peter’s body starts to shake, his sobs muffled into her shirt.

The buzzing in Peter is soft and lonely, and May’s pain mingles with his, but the love is overwhelming, and May rubs Peter’s back until he closes his eyes and lets himself bathe in it. He doesn’t fall asleep--not exactly. He just exists within the link, letting their bond push and pull at him, drawing out the terror and filling the hollowness. 

-

Peter heads back to Massachusetts on Sunday evening, letting the link attaching him to May drop as the distance between them grows. He calls her once he gets back to his dorm, feeling vaguely numb, and falls asleep before the sun even fully sets.

He doesn’t sleep soundly. In his dreams, he hears himself screaming for help, and he swears he can smell the sharp, metallic scent of blood, and when he wakes up abruptly, he almost swears his hands should be covered in red. But they’re not. They’re just his hands, calloused and pale and sweaty, and he’s not out kneeling on wet pavement with his uncle’s dead body in front of him. He’s in his dorm, and his uncle has been dead for three--no eight--years.

The alarm clock tells Peter that he should still be asleep, but now he’s too jittery to even try. Instead, he grabs his phone from his bedside drawer and scrolls around twitter, checks instagram, does other mindless things. He flicks through his Facetime contacts, then realizes he shouldn’t bother anyone and exits the app, going back to instagram, his arm getting cold from being out of the blanket. He absentmindedly goes back to his Facetime contacts and clicks Tony’s name, halfway asleep, and Tony’s already picked up by the time Peter scrambles to try and hang up.

“Oh my god, Tony,” Peter sits up in bed, feeling himself grow hotter with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Peter?” Tony sounds tired, and the guilt hits, immediate and unrelenting.

“I didn’t mean to call you,” Peter says quietly, turning the phone down to Tony can’t see his face. ”I don’t know why I called you.”

“Hey, hey,” Tony’s voice is careful, like he doesn’t know what’s going on, but that’s probably because he doesn’t. “It’s okay. You alright, Pete?”

Peter shakes his head, knowing that Tony can’t see him, but he doesn’t know if he should lie.

“Peter?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter blurts. “This was a mistake.” He quickly hangs up the phone before Tony can heckle him to stay, then flops back down into bed, letting his cheek smoosh into his pillow.

His phone rings, and Peter has half the mind to ignore it, but he knows that would just worry Tony more, so he picks up.

“Hey,” he says quietly, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” Tony says, equally as quiet. “Wanna tell me what that was about?”

“Didn’t mean to bother you.”

Tony sighs. “You didn’t bother me. You just worried me.”

“Didn’t mean to do that either.”

“Okay, bud,” Tony says with a voice he usually reserves for Morgan. “Why aren’t you asleep, huh?” Tony’s words come out clear, but Peter’s suddenly aware that the background noise is cluttered and loud.

“I slept.” Peter listens more intently and catches some honking from Tony’s end. “Where are you right now?”

He doesn’t get a verbal answer. Instead, he gets a knock on his window, and feels a buzzing enter his body. Groaning, Peter drags himself out of bed, wondering if he should find this equally as touching as he finds it annoying. 

“Oh my god,” Peter says, opening the window to let a giant, clumsy Iron Man climb into his dorm. Somehow, Tony manages to make metal look sheepish.

“You’re supposed to be retired.” Peter looks at Tony as the nanoparticles of his suit go back into their compartment.

“And you’re supposed to be sleeping, yet here we are.”

Peter should argue more. He really should. He should tell Tony that he needs a good night’s sleep too, and that he has responsibilities and a family to attend to in the morning, but he’s too relieved to care.

He falls into Tony’s arms, letting the hug pat down all his jagged edges. Tony’s bond is different from May’s or Ned’s. May’s is soft and motherly, fractured from grief, but strong because of it. Ned’s is bright and warm, and infinitely reliable. Tony’s is hesitant, but powerful. It fills out Peter’s chest and allows him to breathe. It tethers him.

“You alright?” Tony asks, and Peter shakes his head. Then, Tony says, “Wanna fight some crime?” 

Peter catches Tony’s eyes and lets his lips curl into a grin, even though it feels wrong. “You mean I fight crime while you watch. Because you’re retired.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” 

Peter shrugs, and Tony gives his shoulder a squeeze, then gestures to the window. “After you, bud.”

“I need to get changed.”

He changes into his stealth suit because it’s the most comfortable, clicking his wrists to get his web shooters activated, then swings out the open window, hearing Tony follow behind him.

Air pushes against Peter’s face, cool and refreshing. As he swings down, Peter lets out a ‘whoop’ or exhilaration, his fingertips reach for the ground, skimming the air inches away from the pavement before the momentum of his webs pulls him back up.

He lands on a roof, pulling the bottom of his mask up to breathe, and Tony lands beside him, his helmet retracting from his face.

“See any baddies?” Peter asks.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “ _Baddies?_ ”

A car honks, another follows. Somewhere a mile off, a girl in her early twenties is walking home alone, her footsteps anxious. “That way,” Peter nods in the direction and takes off, letting himself take in the sky despite the lack of stars.

It’s crazy to think that he’s been up there, above the Earth, and that he’s died up there. The infinite expanse of the universe, and someone Peter’s managed to experience more than just one planet.

Once he reaches his destination, he carefully lands in front of the girl, holding his hands up as to not startle her. 

“Oh!” She gasps, startled anyway, her bag clutched close to her chest, everything about her screaming that she’s nervous. That's before she gets a good look, and once she does her shoulders drop and her grip on her bag loosens. “You’re the Night Monkey, right?” She's probably joking, but her nerves smooth her sarcasm to the point where Peter can't be 100 percent sure.

“Spider-Man, actually. But sure.”

She smiles weakly, then glances behind her, as if making sure no one’s following her before she swallows. It looks like she wants to say something but can't quite get the words out.

Rolling on his heels, Peter shifts back and forth. “Need, uh, someone to walk you home?”

He lets her walk to him instead of the other way around, and she nods tentatively. 

“That would be great.” She swallows again. “Thank you.”

On the roof of the building right next to them, Peter catches Tony’s eyes, and Tony smiles.

 _Are you okay?_ The bond seems to ask, questioning, fretting, almost parental. 

Peter tries to send back a feeling of reassurance, and he knows Tony gets it because Tony gives him a small nod, then takes off, repulsors silent despite their power.

With Tony gone, Peter focuses his attention back to the girl and clears his throat. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Oh. I'm Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Peter.”

She snorts. “I know, Spidey. Everyone knows your name.”

“Right,” he says, and it comes out more bitter than intended.

They walk in silence, all residual tension fading out of Charlie the closer they get to her apartment, and Peter drops her off outside, taking note that at least she’s in a good neighbourhood.

“Thanks again, for walking me back,” Charlie says, and Peter shrugs.

“It’s what I do.”

“Thanks for helping others here. I know it’s not your home turf, but I know all of Massachusetts really appreciates it.”

Warmth washes over Peter, and when she reaches out for a hug, he hugs her back, only pulling away when she does.

“Stay safe, Charlie,” he says, then an idea strikes, and he quickly stops her when she makes her way to head inside. “Wait, let me give you my number. That way if you need to head home late again, just shoot me a call or something. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

Charlie stares, clearly surprised, but she hands her phone over and lets Peter enter his name. 

When she takes it back, she pauses before putting the phone away, then looks at Peter with uncertainty. Hesitantly, she asks, “you okay, Spidey? You look kind of sad tonight.”

Peter draws back, tilting his head in confusion, and gestures half-heartedly to his mask.

Charlie smiles, then shrugs. “Just the vibes you’ve been giving out, I guess.”

“Oh.” Peter shrugs too, then shuffles back. “I’m fine, thanks for asking though.”

She looks like she wants to say more, and Peter almost wants her to say more, but she stops herself. “Okay. Uh, goodnight then. Get some rest. And thanks again.”

Maybe Peter should make more of a verbal effort, but he feels almost fragile, so all he does is give her a little wave, then he attaches his web to the nearest building and swings up, almost running straight into Tony.

“What the--?!” Peter jumps back, his heart racing. “I thought you left!”

“Yeah, it’s like you don’t know me at all, kid.”

Peter rolls his eyes, then sighs and sits down cross legged on the roof after taking his mask off. Tony lets his suit fall away, then follows, his knees touching Peter’s as if reminding Peter that he’s there.

The buzzing is back, whisking the early morning cold away from Peter’s bones, and Peter leans into Tony.

“Bud, I know you’re not okay. I can literally feel it.”

Peter makes a sound of affirmation, and Tony’s energy is a taut, strained string, pulling at Peter’s. “Ben died three years ago, yesterday.”

Tony already knew that, Peter’s sure, but he makes a sympathetic noise anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Blinking never keeps the tears away, but Peter tries anyway, and the link immediately comforts, softening all the broken bits of Peter’s soul. 

“I hate that you’re in pain,” Tony admits, and Peter can hear Tony’s heartbeat, even lying on his shoulder. He can hear the city’s heartbeat. If he concentrates enough, he’ll probably be able to hear May’s, all the way in Queens. 

“You shouldn’t have to share my pain with me,” Peter says, but he makes no move to break the bond. He lets the link strengthen instead, swirling inside him, and he feels Tony’s turmoil. His helplessness at not being able to make things okay. He can feel the tug and the heat. The love, the love, the love. From the tip of his toes to every single strand of hair on his head. Peter can feel the outpouring of Tony’s love.

The link pulses and breathes, filling the void in Peter with life. 

“He was still linked to me when he died,” Peter says, voice too loud in the quiet of the rooftop, the cars below feeling like they’re a million miles away. Here, they’re isolated from the world, at least for a little while. 

“God, Pete,” Tony sounds choked. “I’m so sorry.”

In a list of the greatest pains a human can feel, losing a soulmate while still linked to them would probably make the top three. Because it’s an inhuman experience. It’s almost out of body. It’s a feeling of loss greater than the human mind can comprehend, and Peter’s broken because of it.

The link shudders as Peter’s pain pulses, and Tony pulls him closer. He lets his hand scratch Peter’s scalp, untangling his hair, and Peter sighs. He doesn’t know why the grief is so strong this year, but grief has never been predictable. 

“You cold?” Tony asks, and Peter realizes that he’s shivering, but he shakes his head. He isn’t cold at all. This bond--this strange, unexplainable bond that humans form--is keeping him unbelievably warm. It breathes when Peter breathes, and when Peter lets out the first sob, the bond sobs with him. Peter smells the salt from his tears, the salt from Tony’s tears.

“Why’re you crying?” Peter asks, and Tony laughs wetly.

“Because you’re hurting.”

He says it simply, like it’s obvious, but it’s never been obvious to Peter. 

Peter’s always loved and loved and loved too deeply, and he’s used to feeling isolated because of it. But Tony’s fingers are running through Peter’s hair, and May’s heartbeat is strong from 200 miles away, and the buzz inside Peter right now is reminding him that he’s loved. Deeply and indescribably loved.

Time is blazing forward, the grey clouds of the night slowly being steeped in pink, brighter and brighter. Peter shuts his eyes, letting Tony’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

The sun is coming up.


End file.
